Cleric's Rascal Coat

The Cleric's Rascal Coat lies draped over a merchant's chair, its velvet-black cloth catching the candlelight in slow, mischievous glints. The material feels riversmooth to the touch, a weighty weave that remembers rain and prayer alike, with a nap that shifts direction as you move. Brass trim traces the cuffs and pocket flaps, catching small sparks from the lanterns and turning them into a secret halo around the wearer. The collar rises with quiet arrogance, and beneath it a line of tiny sigils is stitched into the lining, invisible unless you tilt an ear toward the seam as you step through a doorway. A crimson ribbon tucked under the collar adds a rogue's brightness to the cleric's solemn silhouette, a reminder that mercy can wear a smile. The coat's lore hints that clerics who walked the path of healing by day and mischief by night wove it together—two halves braided into a single garment, each stitch listening to sermons and street songs at once. When dawn breaks, the Rascal Coat seems to hum with the world’s dualities, forgiving wounds while inviting risk, healing hands paired with a wink. In play, the coat acts like a quiet ally rather than a loud banner. It grants a tempered boost to sustain during extended skirmishes and adds a hint of nimbleness when you swap between stances, letting you reach allies or slip past danger with a practiced ease. Its pockets are small but listen to the needs of the moment: a heal sigil tucked here, a comfort item tucked there, enough to make a healer seem steadier in a crowded hall of foes. The appearance itself tells a story on the battlefield—imposing enough to earn respect, but playful enough to suggest that mercy can arrive riding on a rascal's grin. Players often choose it to flavor a support build with a narrative edge, so that every heal feels like a chapter in a larger tale rather than a routine spell. Market days bring the coat into sharper light. Traders speak of it in hushed tones as a relic of balance, a piece that can anchor a team’s morale as much as its defense. The Saddlebag Exchange becomes the conduit for its travel from vendor to adventurer; coins clink, negotiations drop into a rhythm of trade, and the coat moves along shelves and stalls until a new owner pockets its history. I watched a buyer run fingers along the brass, whispering about patina and care, imagining the journeys this Rascal Coat has witnessed: clinics, crossroads, and quiet nights when laughter rose and fear faded. And as that narrative continues, the coat folds itself into another day, another party, another moment when mercy and mischief finally share a single breath. Some evenings, a trader will tell you it is merely cloth, yet those who wear it hear the cleric's joke in the rustle of fabric, and know that mercy can travel with a smile. The coat keeps moving, stitching new chapters into an intimate story.